


more bears

by blindbatalex



Series: tumbling pucks [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, drabbles cleaned and cross posed from tumblr, please give author some love i am needy, tagged and indexed for convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: Non-bergy/marchy hockey drabbles from tumblr.Ch1: Tuukka/Anton:  When Tuukka suffers from an unfortunate curse Anton is still there to make sure he gets his cuddlesCh2: Marchy/Tuukka:  Tuukka has a nightmare and is full of rage. Brad comforts him.Ch3: Krej & Pasta: Krej doesn't want to adopt any rookies, not even if they are talented incredible and currently down with a pesky cold.Ch4: Matt/Charlie: Matt bakes some cookies for Charlie's parentsCh5: Tuukka/Jaro: Tuukka comforts Jaro after a tough loss





	1. tuukka/anton + of curses and cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> It honestly makes my day when people come to my inbox to yell about fic and or give me prompts so please come and do that! I'm at @blindbatalex.
> 
> And please let me know if you like these or if there is anything you'd like to see more of. Comments really are my life blood.<3

“You set up the movie I will be right back,” Anton says with a smile before he gets up.

That’s classic Anton for you. Can’t ever sit still for five minutes for his life. He always has to go pee, or get a drink of water, or memorably once, water all of his plants “because it’s getting past their dinner time and they need to be loved.”

Tuukka grunts with displeasure as he puts in the DVD. It’s not like he needs this anyway. He is a grown man and the curse, while largely inconvenient, doesn’t stop him from taking care of himself. He doesn’t need someone to babysit him every night which his teammates seem very keen on doing. A week and a half in it’s really beginning to get under his skin.

His skin that seems set to stay covered in needle-like spines from the neck down until Sweeney’s people figure out first, how someone in the 21st century managed to put a hex on him _and then_ how to break it.

The last time Tuukka checked they were going through a BuzzFeed article titled “seven signs you might be cursed” so Tuukka isn’t holding out too much hope for speed there per se.

Anton comes back and it breaks Tuukka from his thoughts. He is wearing an oversized hoodie, (which Tuukka realizes he must have freaking packed into his backpack since none of Tuukka’s would fit him like that) and–is that a glove on his left hand?

“If you are cold, just increase the thermostat,” Tuukka mutters through gritted teeth. Another time it would have been cute - just another Anton quirk, but now–

Anton pays him no attention, just smiles and settles on the sofa.

Tuukka hates his smile, hates that it’s almost like the real thing from before, warm and open and–well, _loving_ would be too strong a word. Untainted by pity, maybe. Either way he knows it isn’t the case now when his t-shirt has myriad small holes on it with sharp gray spines poking out.

“Tuuks,” Anton says gently, as if to prove his point.

“What.”

Tuukka doesn’t look at him, just keeps his eyes on the DVD menu replaying over and over on the screen. 

He just needs to breathe.

“Tuukka,” Anton tries again, and then with his voice barely above a whisper–

“We don’t have to but, we can cuddle if you want.”

Tuukka snorts at that. It’s funny in a cruel, twisted way even in his current state.

“Yeah, and you can explain why you are bleeding from a thousand cuts to the team doctor tomorrow. I’m sure they would love that.”

“No,” Anton says, “Tuukka look.”

Tuukka does as he is told, almost on instinct. Anton is pointing at his hoodie, holding up his gloved hand. “It’s really thick,” he says, still with a smile, “I tested it with cactus and there isn’t a spike sharp enough to get through this fabric.”

“You what?” 

Tuukka’s mouth hangs open, possibly, just a little.

“Yeah, you know the really tall cactus I have - I hugged it real tight and it was fine. It’s more spiky than even you.”

Tuukka can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at that. Anton sounds very serious and Tuukka can picture him asking his cactus if it needs a good nice hug a little too clearly.

“Come here?” Anton continues, lifting an arm to make space.

Cautiously, Tuukka sidles up to him, unsure that he won’t get hurt. But Anton doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his shoulder, gentle enough not to press too deep into his spines but still firm. Tuukka tries to settle but he doesn’t know what to do with himself and his heart is going a mile a minute.

“You aren’t hurting me,” Anton says, eventually. “Now be a good murderous hedgehog and settle.”

Tuukka lets out an indignant sound at that, protests loudly, but he also does as he is told.

Anton is so soft like he always is when he holds Tuukka and some of his warmth emanates even through his thick hoodie. Tuuka rests his head on Anton’s chest, lets the steady beat of his heart ground him. He has missed this. He didn’t realize just how much he has missed this.

Anton’s ungloved hand comes up to card through his hair. Tuukka whimpers when Anton’s thumb brushes against his jawline.

He doesn’t know when he started crying.

 _“Yezh_ , it’s okay,” Anton says, shushing him, “I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man I wrote this to recover from playoff induced heartbreak but now dobby isn't a bruin any more and my heart is broken for good :(


	2. brad/tuukka + am i scaring you?

Brad wakes up to a cold bed and a muffled, rhythmic noise coming from the outside. 

He checks his phone.

6:58

He groans. It’s too early, anywhere outside the realm of the covers is too cold, and the noise is too persistent and angry to ignore.

A thin layer of frost covers the garden, glimmers white on the blades of grass that crunch under Brad’s feet. The sun, a glob of pale orange just above the horizon, does nothing to mitigate the chill.

And Tuukka stands in the middle of it all, his back turned to Brad, viciously chopping firewood.

Brad walks up to him and stands wordlessly, watches his ax swing up and down with enough rage to last someone like Bergy a lifetime. Perspiration dots Tuukka’s forehead under his beanie and his cheeks are flushed with exertion.

“You are giving me a look,” Tuukka says, without looking away or stopping, “Am I scaring you?”

It is one of the things Brad has learned from Tuukka over the years - sometimes silence is just as powerful as words - not that the insight stops him from chirping anyone and everyone on a daily basis.

He gives Tuukka something caught between a smile and a smirk now. “No man, I know how it is. Some free mornings you want to spend cuddling with your boyfriend and on others you just want to get up and massacre some logs before 7am.”

Tuukka snorts at that and Brad allows himself a private smile at the small victory. Good.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tuukka says by way of explanation. He finally puts the ax down and wipes at his forehead with the back of his glove. “We needed more firewood, so.”

Brad doesn’t comment on how the pile that sits next to the chopping block is more than enough to see them through at least a couple winters.

A cloud hangs on his brow still, dark and discontented - one that makes Brad want to reach out and smooth away.

Instead he takes a step towards Tuukka, and holds his gaze.

“Is that so? Hard work like that - seems like the kind of feat that deserves a reward.”

Tuukka doesn’t flinch or back away and Brad closes the distance between them, runs a gloved thumb over his jawline. “I’m thinking,” he continues, “breakfast in bed. Bacon, pancakes, the whole deal.”

Tuukka leans into the touch to Brad’s delight. “Is my reward just breakfast in bed?” he murmurs, his voice low, and Brad has to fight to keep his face straight and to pull away.

“That,” he says, “depends entirely on whether you come back inside and shower.”


	3. krej & pasta + late nights

There is an unspoken rule on the team when it comes to rookies: you look after them but you treat them as your equals - nothing more, nothing less. Sentimentality is a dangerous thing when you are all there to do a job.

Krej likes it better that way.

Pasta makes a sound and it’s a soft thing, caught between a sniffle and a whimper. Krej takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance at his sleeping figure. Pasta’s arms are clasped at his chest, hugging his coat tight and his head rests against the window. He looks pale in the shadows the streetlights cast in the car, small, and not at all like the kid who battled for every puck only a few hours earlier, dazzled under the lights of the arena.

Krej turns a corner and Pasta’s apartment building appears ahead to their right. It’s a spacious flat, Krej has been in it, and all the colder for it. The few pieces of furniture swim and disappear in the vast space. Pasta’s said he hasn’t had time yet to buy more since he moved from Providence.

He pulls up by the building and idles the car. The motion doesn’t wake Pasta who remains slouched against the window with a frown set on his brow.

To be 19 - to have been through what he has been through - and to play an ocean and half a continent away from home, and to do it all with a goofy smile and laser like concentration– The least the kid deserves is to have someone to make him soup when he is sick.

God.

Krej sighs. “I don’t care what you have to say,” he says softly, already pulling away, “you are coming back back to mine.”


	4. matt/charlie - fluff&angst - so it's like that is it?

Matt is almost but not quite done baking cookies. He is standing with his back turned to Charlie in the corner where the counter makes an L, which Charlie notes, is the hardest spot for a second party to reach to, sprinkling powdered sugar on them.

The afternoon sunlight streams in from the window and washes his beautiful profile. It highlights his chocolate brown eyes, the streak of powdered sugar running across his cheek, but also the way his jaw is clenched despite the small smile playing on his lips.

Charlie doesn’t know what he wants to eat more right now, the cookies or his nervous boyfriend.

He rests his head on the nape of Matt’s neck and wraps his arms around his middle.

“Can I have one of those?” he asks sweetly. Ever since they came out of the oven Charlie’s entire apartment has been smelling like a bakery and Charlie is only human.

“No. They are for your parents,” Matt replies curtly. His shoulders are so tense Charlie feels a phantom stress ache on his own.

Today is the day they are coming out to Charlie’s parents as a couple.

When Charlie came out to them as a gay man back in high school they were… _unhelpful_ to say the least, until he blew up one day in freshman year of college and told them to go to hell. Matt, then his captain, was there for it. Charlie doesn’t know how he would have survived it without Matt-–what he would have done if Matt had spread the rumor or told him it was gross, instead of playing video games with him in Charlie’s room late into the night.

Before he left that first night he’d loitered by the door, kicked at the floor a little, and then looked up at Charlie and said ‘my parents don’t know.’ It was four simple words, a revelation that would have meant nothing to someone else, but Charlie understood exactly what he was saying, recognized the unspeakable grief in Matt’s eyes much better than he would like to.

So here they were some years and heartache later, baking cookies for Charlie’s parents. Matt’s parents still did not know and Charlie’s had come around in that time, through what felt like divine intervention though really it was mostly the doing of his sisters.

Charlie told Matt he had nothing to worry about; he actually wanted his parents to find out this way so Matt would see for once and beyond any doubt, but Matt was the one who held him as he cried back then, and on more than one night.

For that reason he omits now to tell Matt that his parents will hardly eat twenty cookies in one sitting, says instead- “I will tell you something if you give me a cookie.”

Matt groans but doesn’t respond or stop powdering the cookies.

“It’s really important,” Charlie cajoles, pressing a small kiss into Matt’s shoulder.

“Is it now?”

“Yes.”

Matt sighs, tells him Jake, i.e. the worst food thief in the team’s history, is a bad influence in his life, but he also turns around and hands Charlie a cookie.

Charlie bites into it all at once and he is not disappointed–-the cookie somehow tastes even better than it smells. Though, maybe Matt is right about Jake given Charlie’s order of priorities right now.

Right.

Charlie quickly chews and swallows the giant piece he’s bitten.

“My parents will love you,” he says, “they know I can’t do any better than you.”

Matt smiles in a performance worthy of the least convincing boyfriend of the year award. Charlie thinks back to the look on Matt’s face that night as they loitered by the door of his dorm room.

He takes Matt’s hand in his own and caresses his wrist with his index finger.

“But more importantly it doesn’t matter what they–-or anyone else thinks-–because _I_ love you. _I_ know I can’t do any better than you. Remember that.”

“Iloveyoutoo” Matt exhales, trying and failing to suppress a sniffle.

“Besides,” Charlie says, trying to keep his own voice even as he simultaneously pulls his boyfriend into a hug, and reaches to steal another cookie.

“These cookies are so good I think they singlehandedly ended homophobia across the world the moment they came out of the oven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but consider this crack au where half the bruins squad is gay but they are all SO CLUELESS and charlie goes around offering matt's magical gay cookies to anyone who has to open up about his feelings or has to come out to someone and by the time he is baking the tenth batch of cookies in two weeks matt is seriously questioning his life choices.


	5. tuukka/jaro - fluff&angst - your heartbeat is really loud

Tuukka doesn’t realize he’s been expecting Jaro until the door clicks open and he knows exactly who it is. He doesn’t call to Jaro, doesn’t turn on the lights, or acknowledge his presence in another way. Jaro doesn’t do any of those things either–-just toes off his shoes and slips into the bed.

It was a tough game today. A 2-0 loss: not disastrous by any means but they have been soft goals; pucks Jaro should have been able to stop.

They have been doing–- _this_ -–since shortly after the start of the season. Jaro slipped into his room one night in a room that looked like this one, after a loss (and that time it was disastrous and Tuukka was in the goal), stood with his back against the door. He was scared–-Tuukka can count the number of teammates who aren’t scared of him after bad losses in a single hand and have a couple of fingers to spare–-but he was there and Tuukka thought he had nothing better to do, did he? He didn’t have anything better to do than to fuck this replacement Dobby who didn’t complement his sharp edges in infinite softness, in whose arms he would never disappear nor feel for something like a moment that he was healed and he was whole.

And then they’d done it another time and yet another, always when Tuukka lost games, always on the road and in the quiet of the night. He didn’t know what Jaro got out of it but the sex was good and he didn’t particularly care to find out either. When the sun rolled up they showered, dug up fresh clothes, and went by their day as friendly teammates.

It’s only fair Tuukka supposes that Jaro would crave the same distraction when he’s lost an easy game himself. He won’t deny Jaro that.

But when he turns to kiss the other man, his lips meet Jaro’s forehead because Jaro is sliding down the bed as it turns out, settling half on top of Tuukka, his head coming to rest on Tuukka’s bare chest and his arm around Tuukka’s middle. There is nothing… _sexual_ about it.

“What are you doing?” Tuukka asks, opting for it over the more succinct _get the fuck off me_. The words scratch in the air, his throat has gone kind of dry all of a sudden. This is wrong. He doesn’t know what Jaro is playing at but this is not what they do.

“Your heartbeat is really loud,” Jaro murmurs, as if he hasn’t even heard Tuukka and that much Tuukka knows. He can hear it in his own ears as they speak, the emotion swirling in his chest dangerously close to anger.

“Listen-” he starts to say when Jaro sighs, and then Tuukka is no longer saying anything at all. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes.

He knows that sigh–-it feels like he has always known that sigh, ever since they handed him the goalie pads and put him in front of a net when he was about knee high. The disappointment and the guilt and the voice in the back of your head that whispers _what if they are right about you, what if they have been right all along_?

So instead, Tuukka reaches his free hand to stroke whatever short hair Jaro has. _It’s gonna be alright myshka_ Dobby used to say after days like this.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Tuukka whispers now.

He always thought the entire world could be on fire, or submerged in some great flood, and as long as he had a room and a bed and Dobby there by his side telling him that he would believe it.

“Or I could also go murder half of our D in their sleep to make it better. That’s what they deserve for hanging you out to dry like that.”

Jaro chuckles at that, the sound a physical thing against Tuukka’s chest. Tuukka lets himself smile where no one can see it in the dark, holds Jaro just a little closer.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he says again, softly, tries to convince both of them, “everything is always alright in the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do like this one even though it was not a pairing i ever considered writing


End file.
